The Language of Flowers
by stopalltheclocks-x
Summary: Flower shop AU. Emma Swan is a florist struggling to make ends meet. When a beautiful young woman marches into the shop and demands an odd bouquet of flowers, Emma's life takes a turn she never expected.
1. Lilium Bulbiferum

The first time she meets Regina Mills is on a blustery day in April. It's Emma's turn to shut up shop, and she's just hunting down the key at 6.59 when the door to ' _Game of Thorns'_ creaks open with the familiar tinkling of its bell. A woman with dark hair and olive skin, all suited and booted, eyes the small shop with a grimace and marches straight towards the counter.

"I require a bouquet of flowers." She states, slamming her purse down.

Her voice is cold and haughty, like an arctic wind. She stares Emma up and down, wearing the same unpleasant expression she wore when she was appraising the store. Emma stares back, looping her fingers into the straps of her dark blue apron. The apron is covered in 2 years' worth of dirt stains, and has a picture of a smiling sunflower with the writing ' _A Game of Thorns- flowers are coming'_ embroidered on to it _._ What Moe had in mind with that particular fashion choice, she'd never know.

She shrugs. "No can do."

The woman, clearly on a mission, is more than a little terrifying, stalking towards Emma in high heels, and a pantsuit that's probably worth more than her entire wardrobe. She has the expression of someone used to getting exactly what they want. Emma is not an unreasonable person, and if the woman would have come in asking politely, she'd have arranged her some flowers no questions asked, but as it is, there's no way in hell Emma is giving this woman anything at all.

"What do you mean ' _No can do'?"_ The woman hisses. She strides over to where the shelves are, grabs a single red rose, and tosses it onto the counter in front of Emma. "This is a _florist,_ is it not?"

Emma picks up the flower and turns it over in a thumb and forefinger, and she's half tempted to throw it at the woman's face. Instead, she folds her arms and matches the expert sneer. "Can't you read? The sign says closed."

"Can't you tell the time?" The brunette snaps, jabbing a finger towards the clock at the back of the shop. "When I walked in here, that clock said 6.59, which is one minute _within_ the opening hours."

With a huff, Emma runs a hand through her hair. Ignoring the other woman woman's murderous glare, she side steps her and makes her way to the shop door, where she grabs the stupid sign and slowly turns it around. When she turns around, she barely resists the urge to stick her tongue out. "See. _Closed."_

The brunette's chest swells and Emma can hear her muttering under her breath as she digs around in her handbag. For one absurd moment, Emma's convinced the woman is about to pull a gun on her, and she thinks about dying here on the cold shop floor in her dirt stained apron. At least dying while surrounded by roses and petunias would have a flair of the dramatic, she figures.

But it's not Emma's turn to die today. She jumps a little when the brunette thrusts something under her nose. "I require a bouquet of flowers, and so help me…" She leans forward, squinting at Emma's chest. "Miss Swan, you will provide them for me."

Emma looks down at the proffered hand. Several 20 dollar bills are grasped in the outstretched hand. She purses her lips, weighing up the options. On one hand, this woman is the type she loathes- all business suits and superior expressions- but on the other hand, Emma is poor. Down to her last box of cereal, sleeping in 3 jumpers because her heating has cut out poor. She snatches the cash from the brunette's hand, ignoring the slow smirk that spreads across her face.

In a flat voice, "What do you want?"

The woman smooths her pantsuit and sniffs. "I require a bouquet of orange lilies."

Emma lets out a low whistle. Orange lilies. _Desire, passion and hatred._ "You're either madly in lust or after blood with that choice."

The brunette remains silent as Emma clatters around in the back of the shop. She plucks out several of the flowers and deposits them on the counter. "Based on your lack of response, I'm guessing it's the latter. What's your name, anyway?"

Emma isn't one for idle small talk, but she figures anything is better than working under the woman's surmising glare for the next half hour. After all, she's just like any other rude, awkward customer she'd had. It's not like it's anything new. All part of the package and parcel when working in customer services.

The woman examines her fingernails for several long moments, then grits out, "Regina Mills. Not that it's any of your business."

 _Jesus,_ Emma thinks, _it'd be easier to make conversation with a brick._ She grabs a pair of scissors and starts snipping at the stems and removing the excess leaves. She tucks an errant strand of hair behind her ear and flashes the brunette- _Regina Mills-_ a lopsided smile.

"Don't worry," Emma drawls. "I'm not gonna use your name to curse you or anything."

Regina shoots her a black look, and taps her foot impatiently. "Having the misfortune to meet you has been curse enough for one day." She glares pointedly at the counter. "The _flowers,_ Miss Swan."

Emma rolls her eyes, and continues to arrange the lilies. Truthfully, she could finish these up pretty fast, but hell if she isn't getting a kick out of winding this woman up. "You want a drink while you wait?"

"Do I want a drink?" Regina says slowly, her lips caressing each syllable as she eyes Emma suspiciously.

"Yeah, a drink- it's a liquid that you can swallow," Emma mimes picking up a glass and taking a sip. A delicious surge of glee strums through her at the woman's thunderous expression. Now Emma is over her initial bout of irritation, she's actually _enjoying_ pushing this woman's buttons.

"I know what a drink is, you idiot!" Regina barks, "Why would you ask me if I wanted a drink?"

"Christ, I'm not asking for your hand in marriage."

A look of horror dawns on the brunette's face and she visibly steps backwards.

"You're turning me down?" Emma gasps in mock outrage, and she figures she would probably feel offended if she wasn't having so much fun. "So, do you want a drink? And not because I'm trying to woo you," she adds hastily, "I figured a cup of coffee would shut you up while I finish up the flowers."

She watches as Regina purses her lips and smooths out her pantsuit again. Emma wonders if it's a nervous habit.

"Coffee." She says after several beats.

The blonde nods and slips in to the back of the shop, where she boots up the coffee machine. The machine is older than the shop itself and Emma has to give it a hefty slap on the side before it creaks into life. Moe won't spend money on the good stuff, so she makes do with a cheap Walmart brand which she's sure Regina will spit straight back out. The other woman definitely strikes her as the type to be a coffee snob. She strikes her as an _anything_ snob, for that matter. Still, there's no other choice.

She pops her head out, where she sees Regina pacing back and forth, her black heels clicking against the tiles. "Black to match your soul?"

An apple red hue floods the brunette's cheeks and she avoids Emma's eyes. "Milky," she whispers, as though confessing some great secret she's promised to take to the grave, "with 3 sugars."

A small grin spreads across Emma's face. "Milky with 3 sugars coming right up."

A few minutes later, Emma is pressing a piping hot mug of coffee into the woman's hands. She eyes the murky brown liquid dubiously before wrapping her fingers around the handle. Emma returns to the counter to continue prepping the flowers, watching Regina sniffing the mug, as though testing it out for signs of poison.

She takes a long sip and, as Emma predicted, scowls. "Disgusting."

"Yeah, sorry about that," Emma says, retrieving a tie to fasten the bottom of the bouquet with. "It's all we've got. The owner of this place is more of a tea drinker."

"That's quite alright, Miss Swan." Regina says primly.

"Well, your flowers are ready," Emma holds up the bunch to show Regina. "I hope you don't mind, but I took the liberty of mixing them with some yellow carnations to break up the colour a bit."

Regina paces forward and snatches the flowers from Emma, eyeing them critically. "Why carnations, Miss Swan?"

"Oh," Emma scratches her head with a nervous laugh. "In flower language, they represent disappointment. I thought they'd compliment your spiteful lilies."

Regina throws her head back and laughs a full, rich laugh. Like her hair, it's the colour of melted dark chocolate, and both chills and warms Emma all at once. "If only you knew, Miss Swan." She places the untouched coffee back on the counter and slides it towards Emma.

Then, she strides over to the door and points a finger at the sign. " _Now_ you're closed," She pronounces regally.

The door slams shut, and she's gone.

Xxx

She doesn't see Regina Mills again for almost 2 months. In fact, Emma is so busy working overtime in a desperate attempt to hang on to her flat that she forgets all about the strange, cold woman she met back in April. The next time she meets her, it's a sleepy Sunday morning in ' _A Game of Thorns'._

"I'm in love." Lacey declares across the room. She's Moe's daughter, and when she's not at university she spends her free time hanging around the shop and bugging Emma.

"Oh yeah?" Emma says sceptically. She's knelt on the floor, stocking the shelves with new flowers. "Who is it this week?"

Lacey kicks her playfully, and tucks her long dark hair behind her ears. "It's real deal this time, Em."

Emma rolls her eyes. "A few days ago, Will was the love of your life, before you decided he wasn't 'exciting' enough." She's known Lacey since she was 15, which was when Moe offered her the job in the shop. She's the only real friend Emma has ever had, and is notorious for her complicated love life. Emma swears she's spent half of her life consoling Lacey after each of disastrous break ups.

"Gold is different." Lacey insists.

Emma pauses over the flowers. "His name is _Gold?"_ She asks incredulously.

A dreamy expression flits over Lacey's face, and Emma half expects her to burst into song. "He's a rapper." She informs Emma smugly.

"Whatever. Go and tell your dad we're out of the yellow roses, will you?"

A rapper called Gold. _Seriously._ And she'd thought Adam the contortionist had been bad enough. She's so focused on Lacey's ridiculous love life that she doesn't hear the door go.

"What are they?"

Emma's head whips around so fast she almost gives herself whiplash. She loses her footing and falls flat on her ass. When she looks up, she finds a concerned pair of brown eyes peeking out at her from underneath a mop of dark hair.

The eyes belong to a young boy of around 10. His eyes are as big as saucers, and he's wearing a blue shirt depicting some kind of dragon battle, and has a rucksack covered in badges slung over one shoulder. She can see the corner of some marvels comic books sticking out of the top.

"Are you okay, miss?" He asks.

A blush creeps up Emma's neck as she hauls herself to her feet and dusts herself off. She takes a quick look around the shop.

"I'm good. You here on your own kid?"

His head bobs from side to side like one of those nodding dogs people put in the back of their cars. "My mom is next door. She told me I could wait in here for her." He points at one of the flowers on the shelves. "What are they?"

She takes another look around the shop, but there are no customers, and she figures she should keep an eye on the kid until his mother turns up. She kneels down next to him. "They're called morning glories. They're a pretty hardy plant, so lots of people like them."

The boy looks at her and nods, considering the information. "And those?"

They continue in this manner for some time, the boy pointing out a flower and asking its name, occasionally asking its meaning and other tidbits of information. He tells her his name is Henry, and that his mom had bought him a book about flowers for Christmas. She tells him that her name is Emma, and 10 minutes later Emma is sure she's made a friend for life.

"Why don't you pick out a flower for your mom, kid, it's on me." Emma suggests.

Henry nods, bouncing up and down enthusiastically on his heels. Before Emma can make any suggestions, he's already pacing up and down the shop, eyeing each and every flower critically. Emma watches him as he picks some up, mutter something under his breath, and puts them back down again. Several minutes later, he bounds over to the counter and presses his choice into Emma's hand.

"This one, huh?" The flower in her hand is a bright pink Azalea. "A good choice. One of their meanings is to show gratitude."

The kid beams at her, a bright, full faced smile that has Emma grinning back at him.

The door tinkles, and Henry grabs the flower and sprints off. His face is red as he shyly grabs his mom's hand and curls her fingers around the Azalea. She brings it to her face and smells it, a gentle smile gracing her features. "It's beautiful, darling. Thank you." She bends down and presses a kiss on his forehead, which he wipes off with the back of his sleeve.

"You should thank Emma." He gestures towards where Emma is stood, gaping at them with a beet red face. She shuffles from foot to foot and toys with the strap of her apron.

The woman sneers a little at Emma's dishevelled appearance, and it's then that their eyes meet. A pair of chocolate eyes bore into Emma's green ones, and a flare of recognition scorches though the blonde.

 _Regina Mills._

The woman who barged into the flower shop all those months ago and had left without so much as a thank you. She'd been wearing such a tender, warm expression when she spoke to her son that Emma didn't recognise her at first. But it was _her._ Those high heels and black suit were unmistakable.

 _Regina Mills._

She pointedly ignores the way her heart starts to race.

"Y- you." She splutters.

A delicious smirk spreads across the brunette's face. "Me." She agrees.

"What are you doing here?"

"Why?" Regina sneers, "Are you _closed?"_

Henry is watching them curiously, his eyes swinging back and forth between them, as though watching a tennis match.

"Are you and Emma friends, mom?" He asks innocently.

"Over my dead body!"

"Like hell we are!" 

They shout at the same time. Regina marks her with her usual dangerous glare, and Emma folds her arms across her chest and scowls.

"Language, Miss Swan." The brunette snaps at her.

Emma glances at Henry, and mutters a hasty sorry. She lets out a long sigh. "You wanting to send another symbol of hate to someone who's annoyed you?"

The brunette rolls her eyes, and marches towards the counter. "If you think I'd make another purchase from you after that poor arrangement, you must think me stupid."

"Then what do you want?" Emma demands. "Don't tell me it's another cup of coffee."

"Hardly," Regina wrinkles her nose at the memory. "I'd rather drink bleach."

"I _wish_ you would drink bleach." Emma mutters darkly. "Just tell me what you want."

By this point, Henry has lost interest in the conversation and is back to kneeling on the floor looking at flowers. Regina's eyes follow him around the room with a pained expression, looking anywhere except Emma. She appears to be having an internal argument with herself, grappling with some difficulty Emma can't for the life of her figure out.

Finally, her eyes find Emma's again. Her hands have the counter in a death grip, and her face is bright scarlet. She might be a bitch, but hell if Regina Mills isn't beautiful. Heart stoppingly, absurdly beautiful. Emma must have a vacant expression on her face, because suddenly Regina's scowl is back in place, though she is still blushing.

"You will join me for dinner tomorrow."

Emma feels her heart stop.

"W- what?"

"Are you deaf?" The brunette growls. "You will join me for dinner tomorrow."

"Dinner." Emma repeats stupidly.

Regina looks as though she wants to punch her.

"Why?" Emma breathes. This woman, who'd she'd met only once before, who had given every impression she couldn't stand Emma, was asking her for dinner. She half expects someone to jump out and yell 'April fools!'

Regina flushes again and waves over at Henry. "Henry, we're leaving. Come on." She sweeps towards the door, Henry racing on ahead of her and throwing an apologetic smile at Emma.

"Yes." Emma calls after her.

The brunette stops in her tracks. Silence crackles in the air as Emma twists a lock of blonde hair around her finger.

"I'll join you for dinner."

Slowly, Regina turns around. An uncertain smile blossoms across her face and Emma's heart clenches painfully inside her chest.

"You will wear something nice." Regina commands.

Emma pretends to withdraw a pen and notebook from her apron, and mimes taking notes.

"And you will be ready for 8pm. I will meet you outside this shop."

"8pm. Shop. Wear something nice." Emma repeats back, causing Regina to glower at her.

"Until tomorrow, Miss Swan." Regina says as she sweeps out of the door. For the second time, it slams behind her and she's gone.

Emma stares at the door for a long time after she's left.

 _Tomorrow._


	2. The Date

_This intoxication, takes my breath away,_  
 _this agitation, fevering the day._  
 _I see her now at every turn,_  
 _around every corner, she's there, she is waiting,_  
 _one moment inviting, one moment frustrating_

-Intoxication, from the musical 'Marguerite'

* * *

She doesn't start panicking until the following afternoon. After hours of begging, Moe has let her off her shift early and it's 5'o'clock, which leaves 3 hours until her date with Regina. 3 hours to sort herself out. Currently, she's sat cross legged on the floor in her underwear in front of a mirror, stuffing a second bear claw into her mouth. The contents of her wardrobe are heaped precariously on the bed, and that's how Lacey finds her when she arrives.

There's a click in the lock (Lacey has a spare key for emergencies, like this one), and the brunette is barging into Emma's room.

"Christ, Em. You look a state." Lacey declares, quirking an eyebrow as she plucks a lacy black bra from off the door handle. She swats it at Emma's face.

Emma groans, a spray of crumbs exploding from her mouth. "I _know._ 'Wear something nice,' she said, like I actually own something nice. I don't even have a dress!"

Lacey just gives Emma a disgusted look, saunters out of the room and returns a few moments later with a bin liner. "These are some of my old clothes. Pick something" and then "I can't believe I told Gold I couldn't go to his show for _this_." She gestures Emma, who is currently rifling through the bag like a homeless person searching for a discarded sandwich.

The blonde scowls and hits her arm lightly. "Hoes before shows, and all that."

"You mean hoes before _bros?"_ Lacey drawls.

"Whatever." Emma shrugs. "If you'd have seen her, you'd understand why I'm panicking so much."

"I thought you said she was a bitch?"

Emma pauses, a stack of clothes balanced in her arms as she heads towards the bathroom. "She is," she agrees finally. "But she's a _hot_ bitch."

It's okay for Lacey- she has a small, delicate built and a gentle (until you get to know her, anyway) personality. She's curvy, and has her own good sense of style. Emma is clumsy, has a chronic case of foot in mouth syndrome, and her idea of fashion is a Walmart tank top and the red leather jacket she bought when she was 18. She's never been in a serious relationship, and the handful of dates she's been on have consisted of playing pool and drinking herself into oblivion at a karaoke bar. Emma Swan just isn't the sort of girl suitable for someone like Regina Mills, and she's been wondering all day why the woman has asked her for dinner, because there's no way in hell she _likes_ her.

In spite of this, Emma wants to look _nice_ for the woman. Regina has been nothing but rude, sarcastic and downright mean, but Emma feels oddly drawn to her all the same. Not that she plans to tell her that.

With a long sigh, she searches through the pile of clothes she's grabbed from Lacey's collection. Some of things are brand new, the tags still in them, and Emma feels a small stab of jealously- she can't remember the last time she'd bought anything new, and she certainly doesn't have the luxury of throwing clothes away. Eventually, she finds a plain black dress and wriggles into it. It's a little tight on her, but it's not low cut (like most of Lacey's other dresses) and reaches just below her knees.

She pokes her head out of the door. "Think I've found something, Lace."

The brunette looks her up and down. "Not bad. It'll look good with your black leather jacket and my high heels, I think. We need to sort out your mop next- it's a complete mess."

Emma nods, looking in the mirror. Lacey isn't wrong- it gets pretty humid in the shop during summer, and the moment there's even a bit of moisture in the air, Emma's hair goes from pretty blonde ringlets to scarecrow. "What do you have in mind?"

With a grin, Lacey pats the bed. "Take a seat, my friend."

Two and a bit hours later, after a lot of screeches as Lacey practically rips through her hair, and Emma is ready. Lacey frogmarches her over to the mirror to admire her handy work.

By some miracle, the black dress looks pretty good. It accentuates her best features, and hides the bits she doesn't like (the top of her thighs)- coupled with the black jacket, Emma looks nicer than she's seen herself in years. She's still no Lacey, of course, but she looks half decent. Lacey insists on minimal make up (because apparently making too much of an effort is a bad thing), so she's wearing mascara and a dash of lip-gloss. Her hair has been teased into gentle curls, and the blonde locks fall over her shoulders in soft waves.

Lacey squeezes her shoulders. "You look beautiful, Em."

The blonde's cheeks darken and she looks down. "I guess."

Emma winces and clutches her bicep as Lacey throws a punch at her shoulder. "No. You look beautiful. Amazing. Hot-"

"Lacey-" Emma warns

"- 10/10, would totally bang. If I was gay, anyway." She sing songs, prancing around the room with Emma's bra on her head.

Emma swats her lightly, then grabs hold of her hands. "Thanks, Lace. I mean it. You know I'm not- well- you know-" She stammers out.

Lacey just nods and grins. "You'll be fine, goldilocks. Go knock her out."

A warm glow diffuses through Emma's body, right down to her toes. For all her annoying habits, Lacey is a good friend. She knows all of Emma's insecurities and each one of her bad habits, but loves her anyway. She's also the only friend who's been able to put up with Emma's inability to express her feelings.

"I mean it," Lacey says seriously. "If she treats you well, knock her out with your charm and wit. And if she's a bitch, then smack her right across the face. Now, put your shoes on and get the hell out of here. I'll lock up."

Emma jams the heels on her feet and hauls herself up, wondering how the hell Lacey wears these on a daily basis. She half walks, half stumbles towards the door, sucking in a deep breath.

"Well, see you later."

Lacey salutes her. "Later,"

"And don't eat all my poptarts again!" Emma yells as she slams the door shut.

* * *

At precisely 8pm, the clicking sound of Regina's heels sound across the pavement. Emma's head snaps up, and her mouth goes dry.

She's beautiful. Dark hair is swept back in a sleek up do, and Emma's eyes trace the pretty curve of her skin to a dangerous neckline. A plum dress hugs her curves as she sways towards Emma, her usual haughty expression for once softened into something else, something gentler.

Too late, she realises she's staring. Her mouth snaps closed, and Regina's eyes glitter deliciously as she flashes Emma her trademark smirk. "Miss Swan,"

Emma gulps. "Regina," She stammers out. "You l-look regal,"

 _Regal,_ she cringes. Christ, the most beautiful woman she's ever seen is taking her out for dinner and all Emma can manage is _regal._ She blushes furiously and looks at the floor.

The brunette barks out a laugh. " _Regal,"_ she repeats slowly, a teasing edge to her voice. "I hope that means you intend to treat me like a queen tonight, Miss Swan,"

A searing heat scorches through her entire body, and every nerve ending comes alight. She can't think of a single sensible thing to say in response, so instead she just jams her hands in her pockets and shuffles from foot to foot, looking anywhere but Regina. She isn't sure what the hell is wrong with her. She doesn't usually react this way to _anyone,_ but there's something about the seductive way Regina's voice curls around every syllable that turns her into a floundering school girl. She almost wishes they were back to bickering, like in the shop. Anything other than whatever the hell _this_ is.

Regina actually has the gall to laugh at her, the sound twinkling along with the night stars. Emma almost jumps 6 feet in the air when the brunette slips a small hand into the crook of Emma's elbow. "Come, Miss Swan. My car is around the corner."

They walk towards the car in silence. It's a warm night in June, and the streets are full of young families taking lazy evening walks. Emma is hyperaware of Regina's fingers bunched in the fabric of her leather jacket, and the way her hip keeps brushing against Emma's as they walk. She's searching desperately for something to say now, but the words are snagged in her throat like a zip. Regina herself seems calm and is, much to Emma's surprise, humming contentedly.

Finally, mercifully, they reach the car. It's a black Mercedes with grey leather seats.

 _Of course,_ thinks Emma, _even her_ car _is beautiful._

Regina walks around and opens the passenger door, gesturing at Emma to get in. She does so, sighing the moment her feet are off the ground. How Lacey walks around in heels everyday, she'll never understand. She's only been wearing them for a half hour and her heels are already burning.

Regina climbs in next to her, and somehow, it's even quieter than before now. She plugs the key in the ignition and the car grows into life. Emma clutches the side of the seat, thinking about Lacey's words.

 _Knock her out._

She's certainly doing that. She's undoubtedly knocking Regina out with her inability to form words. She clears her throat.

"So, um, where are we going?"

Regina's eyes are fixed on the road. "An Italian called La Vecchia Scuola. Do you like Italian?"

Emma's mind darts to her freezer, stocked full of cheap ass pizzas, and she chuckles nervously. "Yeah, if we're counting pizza,"

The brunette makes a face and takes her eyes off the road for a moment to throw Emma a disgusted look. "Of course you like pizza."

Emma isn't sure what to say to that, and she's already regretting the decision to meet Regina. There is no way in hell they have anything in common, right down to the foods they like to eat. She feels downright uncomfortable sat on the leather seats of Regina's Mercedes wearing a pretty dress on her way to a restaurant she can't even pronounce the name of. It just isn't _her._ Anxiety swills in the pit of her stomach as she thinks about the wallet stuffed in her leather jacket- 25$ dollars is all she could afford to bring if she wants to pay the bills next month, and _La Vecchia Scuola_ doesn't sound like a 25$ type of restaurant.

"Regina," she blurts out, "Why am I here?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Why did you want to go to dinner with me?" She mumbles.

The brunette's hands tighten around the steering wheel. The streets race by and for several painful moments, Emma is convinced she won't answer. There's a traffic light up ahead, and Regina turns to look at Emma as the car comes to a halt.

"I'm uncertain." She murmurs at last, and for the first time this evening, Regina looks as uncomfortable as Emma. Her face is tight and thoughtful, and Emma doesn't know what to make of it. "When I came in your shop yesterday, I had no intention of asking you for dinner."

Emma meets her eyes and offers a small, reassuring smile, and Regina smiles back. It's the first genuine smile Emma has seen there, and it softens her whole face. In that moment, she looks every inch the nervous school girl Emma feels like. Regina might be full of bravado on the surface, but Emma figures the brunette has probably felt as nervous as Emma all along. She's just a damn sight better at hiding it. She sinks back into the chair, feeling at ease for the first time.

"So you don't make a habit of being rude to women in flower shops then asking them out?"

The traffic is moving again, and Regina's eyes are back on the road, but it doesn't stop her from looking at Emma one last time, that same thoughtful expression on her face again.

"Only the beautiful ones." She says sincerely.

Emma's mouth falls agape at the compliment, and she shuts it in a hurry before Regina catches her for the second time that night. The haughty, cold woman from the shop is gone. Of course, her every word still carries a sharp edge of teasing and sarcasm, but the vitriol is gone. This Regina is still cool and collected, but refreshing and almost gentle, like an early morning breeze.

"You intrigue me, Miss Swan." Regina admits. "And I'd like to get to know you better."

"Emma," the blonde insists. "My name is Emma."

She sees the corner of Regina's lips twist upwards. "Emma, then."

* * *

They drive the remainder of the way in a companionable silence. They finally arrive at the restaurant, and Emma blushes when Regina opens the passenger door and places a hand on the small of her back as she guides her into the restaurant, and Regina's face is a pretty shade of pink when Emma pulls out her chair for her.

The restaurant isn't as fancy as Emma expects. It's small and intimate, and there are only a few tables.

Emma doesn't know what most of the things on the menu are, so she gets Regina to pick something out for her. The brunette orders them both a starter of garlic bread, followed by some creamy seafood pasta dish.

"So," Emma says as their starter is served, "Who's looking after Henry?"

At the mention of his name, the brunette's whole face changes. The smile that blooms across her face is both proud and joyful, and her brown eyes brighten. "He's with my old university friend, Kat. No doubt he's currently eating his body weight in sugar and bouncing off the walls."

"He seems like a great kid."

Regina nods. "He is. He can be a handful, but he means everything to me. Tell me, how long have you worked as a florist, Emma?"

Emma's dying to ask about Henry's father, but it feels too intrusive for first date conversation. "Since I was 15. It's the only job I've ever done. I'm not good at much else."

Regina frowns at that, but doesn't comment. "Didn't you want to go to college?"

The blonde shrugs. "I guess. I've just never had the money. I-uh- grew up in care."

She waits for the sad, pitying look and words of sympathy that usually follow when she admits that, but they never come. Regina only looks at her with curiously soft eyes.

"Henry is adopted," She says quietly.

Emma's eyes widen and she stares at Regina in amazement. "Adopted?"

"Yes. I always wanted a child, but I- I'm infertile. So I adopted Henry," she explains, "My mother told me I wasn't capable of raising a child. Almost everyone thought it was a bad idea, but the moment I held him in my arms, I loved him,"

Emma is silent as she chews on her garlic bread, mulling over Regina's words. "He's lucky," She says at last. "To have someone like you for a mom."

A brilliant smile graces the brunette's face. "Thank you, Emma. That means more to me than I can say."

"Anyway," Emma says, "We can save the heavy stuff for when I've drank more wine." As if to reiterate her point, she drains the remainder of her first glass. "What's your favourite animal?"

If Regina is taken aback by the abrupt change in conversation, she doesn't show it. "A horse." Regina answers immediately.

Emma snorts, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand, a gesture that earns her a black look from the brunette. "Only posh people like horses."

"And I'm guessing yours is a dog?" Regina asks through a sneer.

"Of course. Who doesn't love dogs?"

"Only common people like dogs." Regina insists, wiping the corning of her mouth primly on a napkin.

The evening flies by after that. They argue about everything from films they like, to their favourite colours, to politics, and their favourite pastries (Emma won't accept it when Regina insists she doesn't like pastry). The brunette is still a sarcastic bitch, but she's also charming and funny and Emma finds herself sharing titbits about her shitty childhood, and in return Regina shares a little about her difficult relationship with her mother. Regina is remarkably easy to talk to, and Emma doesn't know how to feel.

Sometime after 11, the waiter returns to their table and coughs nervously. "Excuse me, but the restaurant is closing now."

Emma blinks in surprise, and Regina looks around her at the empty seats. She settles the bill after several protests from Emma, and then her hand is on Emma's back again, guiding her back to the car.

Regina asks for her address, and after that, they drive in silence.

The air is crackling with a whole lot of _something._

Emma's heart is thudding in her ribcage, and Regina is staring determinedly ahead, her face taut.

Finally, they pull up outside Emma's flat and the blonde unbuckles her seat belt.

She turns to face Regina, to find the woman watching her intently.

"You're home," the brunette murmurs.

Emma's face is burning, and she isn't sure if it's the warm summer night, or if it's just _her,_ looking at her with those dark chocolate eyes, but she feels a little delirious. Dizzy, almost.

At the start of the night, she hadn't known what to expect, but it wasn't this. She hadn't expected to _like_ Regina.

Now they are out of the restaurant, she doesn't know what to do, or how to act. Half of her wants to flee to the safety of her flat, and the other half wants to pull her close and kiss the absurdly defiant red lipstick from her lips.

It's Regina who makes the first move. She reaches across the gear stick and encircles Emma's wrist with soft fingers. Emma wonders if the other woman can feel her pulse fluttering away against her hand.

"I hope you enjoyed yourself tonight, Emma," She says.

Emma looks up at her slowly, drinking in the brunette's face. She can smell the intoxicating scent of Regina's perfume. Some of her hair has fallen loose, and the dark ringlets are falling prettily in front of her eyes. She looks smaller, somehow, in the car, and more vulnerable than Emma had ever thought a woman like Regina could look.

"You're not the person I thought you were." She confesses breathily, tucking an errant strand of hair behind Regina's ear with a trembling hand.

Regina sucks in a sharp breath. She takes Emma's hand in hers and presses it against her cheek. "You really are beautiful, Emma,"

It's said with the same sincerity as earlier, only this time Emma doesn't look away.

For the first time in her life, Emma Swan really does feel beautiful.

And then they are kissing. She isn't sure who starts it, but Regina's lips are on hers, slow and languid, asking for permission, her hand still curled around Emma's wirst. Emma presses closer to her, drunk on the heady taste of Regina's lips. The fingers around her wrist dig into her skin painfully, and she rests a hand on the nape of Regina's neck, her hand ghosting across the delicate skin.

They pull apart at the same time, chests heaving. Their foreheads are resting against each others', and Emma's grinning like an idiot.

"Well damn." She mumbles, oh so articulate, against Regina's cheek.

Regina lets out a throaty chuckle. "Not quite how I would put it, but yes." Regina moves back carefully and starts fussing her hair in the rear-view mirror.

She pouts, and shoots Emma an irritated look. "You've messed up my hair, Miss Swan."

Emma raises a brow. " _You_ kissed _me_. Besides, it was worth it."

Regina only hums non-committedly.

Emma knows she should get out of the car now, but she doesn't want the night to end.

She nudges the brunette's shoulder. "Admit it, I'm the best snog you've ever had."

Regina pauses and begins mumbling names and counting on her fingers, pretending to consider. Finally, she looks at Emma. "I've had better."

"So you _don't_ wanna do it again?" Emma challenges.

"You," Regina growls, "are an idiot." She closes the distance between them and captures Emma's lips in a searing kiss, but Emma pulls away almost instantly, smacking a palm against her forehead.

"Flowers!" She almost shouts.

Regina looks at her as though she's grown an extra head.

"I work in a florist and I forgot to bring you flowers."

"I'm kissing you and _that's_ what you're thinking about?" Regina huffs, incredulous.

She flashes the brunette a cocky grin. "You're not the only one who's 'had better'."

"If that's true," Regina says sweetly. "You can get out of my car, Miss Swan."

Emma cackles as she opens the passenger door and steps on to the pavement. "I'll see you again?"

"Perhaps." Comes the delicate reply, and it's Regina's who's cackling as she slams the car door shut.

It revs into life, and the brunette waves at her regally, blowing her a final kiss before rounding the corner. Then she's gone.

 _No,_ Emma thinks, _Regina is nothing like she expected at all._


End file.
